


Paint It Black

by mm8



Series: MMoM [29]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drug Use, Incest, M/M, Masturbation, Sexual Tension, Sibling Incest, Spanking, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-13
Updated: 2012-06-13
Packaged: 2017-11-07 15:26:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/432646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mm8/pseuds/mm8
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All Mycroft Holmes ever wanted to do was care for and love his little brother. He may have not been perfect, but he was going to keep trying until he got it right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paint It Black

**Author's Note:**

> For the sake of this I am making Mycroft and Sherlock have a ten year age difference. Originally wrote this for [mmom](http://mmom.livejournal.com/) 2012 and [love_bingo](http://love-bingo.livejournal.com/) round two. [star54kar](http://star54kar.livejournal.com/) gave me the prompt (though this was not her pairing nor fandom (although I maybe wrong on the fandom bit), sorry love!) of 'Insanity: doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results'. Also the song  
> Paint It Black' by The Rolling Stones helped inspire this fic.

It was the great late Albert Einstein who said _Insanity: doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results_.

If Einstein was correct, then Mycroft is the most insane man that ever existed.

* * *

"Why is Mummy sad?"

Mycroft looks down from his history book at his little brother, who is tugging at his trouser leg. Sherlock's eyes are much too old for a five year old's. They are too inquisitive, too knowledgeable. He sets the heavy book on the table, picks up Sherlock, and puts him on his lap. His little brother instantly curls around him.

"Mummy is sad because Daddy is gone." He says as he strokes Sherlock's curly hair. He knows he's speaking down to the child but it's reflex when talking to someone so young.

Sherlock looks up at him, confused. Of course he's confused, he's never _met_ Daddy. Daddy went 'missing' when Sherlock was still a babe. 

" _Why_ is Mummy sad?" Sherlock repeats his question.

Mycroft sighs and contemplates how to answer. He teases Sherlock's hair, letting the strands curl around his finger and releases it; the dark strand bounces back like a spring. "When two people love each other so deeply—" He stops. 

"You don't have to be silly, My." Sherlock frowns. The child is starting to sound annoyed, which is not a good thing. "Why is Mummy sad?"

He stands up and maneuvers them so Sherlock is sitting comfortably in the big armchair now. Mycroft goes over to one of the bookshelves and picks out a book of poetry. Not one of his favorites, nor is it perfectly fitting, but it will have to do. He flips through the pages after scanning the index and finding the poem he wants, he starts to recite to his five year old brother.

" _i carry your heart with me(i carry it in_  
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere  
i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done  
by only me is your doing,my darling)  
"i fear  
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want  
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)  
and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant  
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

_"here is the deepest secret nobody knows_  
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud  
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows  
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)  
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart 

_"i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)_.

"Does that help you understand, Sher—" Mycroft smiles. Sherlock has fallen asleep in the armchair, his hand curled around Mycroft's large history book.

Mycroft puts the poetry book away before lifting his little brother up, carrying him up the lavish staircase and tucking him into bed.

* * *

On the eve of Mycroft's first promotion at MI-6, he is called away by his Mother because of a family emergency.

Sherlock is missing.

He's been missing for more than 48 hours.

The local police had been called in and had searched the premises of the entire countryside, even bringing in bloodhounds. When they had turned up with nothing, Mother had gotten frustrated and called him. 

Mycroft searches Sherlock's bare bedroom for any clues but comes up empty. He is about to leave when he finds something sticking out from behind the bookshelf. When he retrieves it, he smiles to himself. He goes down the stairs to find Mother nursing a bottle of sherry. He casually takes the sherry away from her and kisses her cheek. 

"Don't worry, Mother. I'll have Sherlock back within the hour."

And he is right. It is easy since Sherlock has run away to the basement of Mycroft's flat building. No one ever went down there and Mycroft is sure that the lock to the door is either easily cracked or the key for it is out in the open.

Sherlock is shivering and has a fever. He awakens when Mycroft scoops him up and begins to carry him up the flight of stairs.

"How did you know where to find me?" Sherlock whimpers. He holds onto his brother for warmth, instinctively put his head on his brother's shoulder, inhaling the familiar scent of home.

Mycroft doesn't answer. He feels like he'd be insulting his brother if he did.

* * *

He can only come home every year for Christmas and the odd birthday due to his work.

But every year he notices that Sherlock is growing up. He's getting taller, thinner. Handsome wouldn't be justice for his brother. He's becoming beautiful. He has deep dark eyes that stare straight through your soul. His curls grow wilder and cause Sherlock to have an exotic look. His intelligence is superb. Mycroft is sure that if Sherlock took a test, he'd measure off the scale and would be smarter than someone like Hawking or Einstein. 

It's around the time of his 27th birthday that he starts having dreams.

* * *

His Mother's words spin in his head.

 _"Please dear, you_ must _come. I don't know what to do with him anymore."_

As he arrives through the front door of his childhood home it doesn't take him long to find Sherlock.

He is in the library. Throwing priceless antiques about, screaming in delightful joy as they crash to the floor. He is dressed in nothing but a thin see-through silk robe. Where his brother got such a piece of garment Mycroft isn’t sure. From across the distance Mycroft can see the sweat dripping down his brother's body and the puncture marks running down his arms. 

Sherlock was on drugs.

Shit.

"Why must you do this to Mummy?" Mycroft asks, his voice booming throughout the library.

Quickly, Sherlock turns like a wild animal. His face is flushed, eyes are untamed. "What do _I_ do to Mummy?" His voice is full of rage. "What about what _you_ do to her, Mycroft?" Sherlock spits out his brother's name like it is a curse. "You rarely come home! I'm surprised she remembers she has a son named Mycroft."

 _Ah_ , he muses. _So that is what this is about is it?_

"I think it's better for Mummy," Mycroft's mouth is a thin line. "that one of her sons frequently calls yet rarely comes home than the other son, who is present in body and not in mind. Wouldn't you agree?"

Sherlock lunges at him. There is a short struggle, knocking over more unique items around the room. Mycroft makes a mental note whenever one fell to the floor of what it is and to express his deepest apologizes to his Mother later.

It isn't difficult to overtake Sherlock and soon Mycroft was sitting in the big armchair, his favorite as a child. He holds Sherlock down over his lap and forcefully pulls over Sherlock's silk robe, revealing his pale arse. 

"Someone should have done this to you a long time ago!" He yells before laying his large hand across Sherlock's bare bottom. His brother cries out but that doesn't stop Mycroft. He smacks his arse again and again. Sherlock's pale bum is reddening with each blow.

Mycroft's hand stills in the air and his stomach falls. Why hasn't he noticed before?

His brother looks up at him with pleasing eyes, drool dripping down from the corner of his mouth. "Again." He orders. When Mycroft did not strike, Sherlock became irritated. " _Again_ , I said!" He makes his point by rubbing his erection against Mycroft's lap.

Mycroft throws his brother to the floor and rushes out of the room and into the nearest loo. He strokes himself once, twice, and comes.

* * *

He pays Sherlock's rent. He pays Sherlock's drug money. He makes sure Sherlock gets out of jail the instant he's arrested.

He takes care of his brother the only way he knows how.

* * *

He comes back from a weary trip in Tanzania to find that Sherlock has broken into his flat. Of course, not only had his little brother broken in, he has estimated his arrive time and is currently lying stark naked on Mycroft's bed, his hands around the bars of the head post like he's handcuffed, his legs spread eagled leaving nothing to the imagination. 

"Sherlock, what are you doing here?" He asked politely.

Sherlock seemed puzzled or amused. "Don't be stupid, you know the answer."

"I'd prefer if you'd say it." Mycroft is trying his best to look into Sherlock's face but can't help but look elsewhere…

"Dull." Sherlock sat up, cross-legged. "I was waiting for you to come back from Tanzania so we could shag."

Mycroft sighs and looks up at the celling. He needs a smoke after this is over. He begins to gather up his brother's scattered clothing. "Get out, Sherlock."

"What? Did I get it wrong? I'm never wrong." Sherlock's voice is defiant. He sits at the edge of the large bed, wrapping his arms around his brother's middle as if to plead to let him stay.

Mycroft leans into the touch, yearns for it. But God he must do the right thing. He throws the pile of clothes beside his brother. "I said _get out_."

He looks away as his brother dresses, not daring to take a peek. 

He shivers when someone grasps his bum and _squeezes_ , his cock instantly springs to life. There's a hot breath in his ear. "I _know_ I'm right."

* * *

Mycroft is about to change his mind and phone Sherlock.

And then John comes and ruins everything.

**Author's Note:**

> * Kudos are amazing and I will never stop asking for them, but getting comments, actual feedback from readers means so much. Taking five seconds out of your time can really make my day.
>   
> 
> * You can follow me on [tumblr](http://mm8fic.tumblr.com/).


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